


Gloriana

by laetificat



Category: Blackadder
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laetificat/pseuds/laetificat
Summary: Some drabbles celebrating Queenie and her loyal Eddie in all their smutty glory.





	1. Hand

“Majesty, are you absolutely sure about this?” 

He feels compelled to ask, despite the fact that she has made it more than clear with all of her usual absurdity, having presented him with a stool and a veritable pervert's delight of implements laid out across the coverlet of the bed like a display of very impractical cutlery. Not to mention the fact that she flung herself over his lap almost as soon as he sat down, tugging down her voluminous underwear to expose the royal bottom in all of its beautiful porcelain glory, as pert and pretty as anyone could want, just begging for his hand or his --

But he must ask, because one never knows, especially when one's monarch is prone to ordering people's heads chopped off with bloodthirsty regularity and for very little reason. 

“I'm sure, Edmund, now get on with it before I have you thoroughly flogged by someone much less pretty than me!” The Queen replies, kicking her feet a little for emphasis. 

That settles it. Edmund clears his throat, hovering his hand experimentally over her bare cheeks to see how that feels, lifting it, but no, perhaps the other way, from the side? Or perhaps, upwards, in a sort of arc? And across both cheeks, or one at a time? The royal arse is not to be struck incorrectly, after all, this is not a normal arse, not like those girls behind Mrs Miggins’ who will pull their drawers down for a penny, though maybe now that he thinks about it --

The Queen coughs, loudly and pointedly, from the region of his ankles. Nursie giggles from where she's tatting lace on the other side of the room -- her presence, Edmund has come to discover, sadly doing little to diminish the ardour of the situation and in some cases has (and he will take this to his death bed) rather enhanced it.

“If you do not begin, Edmund, I will take back your title of Master of the Bedchamber and give it to Lord Melchett, and I will have you -- ”

Edmund slaps her, hard, across both cheeks. Her skin is cool and delightfully smooth under his palm. She jumps in his lap and lets out a surprised squeak that goes straight from Edmund's ears to his prick, and he silently thanks the Lord and Greyson's of Fleet Street for roomy codpieces. 

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Another!”

Edmund obliges, and twice more in quick succession, to her vocal excitement. Her bottom has reddened a little; he dares to rest his hand on her warmed cheek. She sighs, softly. Edmund feels a thrill in his heart like a fluttering bird that has nothing to do with lust.

“More, Majesty?” He asks.

She taps her feet thoughtfully against the floor. “Please, Lord Blackadder.” She pauses, then continues in a low and slightly husky voice. “And please do call me.. Naughty Lizzie.”

“I haven't heard you called that since you were still using the potty and you -- ” Nursie begins.

“Nursie!” The Queen barks. “Out! At once!”

Nursie sighs, but obeys with her usual rather bovine acceptance of all things Queen-related. As the door shuts behind her, the Queen twists to look up at Edmund, and he suddenly realises he hasn't lifted his hand from her bottom, which has grown very warm indeed under his palm. He meets her eyes, realising not for the first time that they are dark and very beautiful under her slightly dishevelled curls. 

“Edmund,” she reminds him, after a long silent moment. He starts; clears his throat. Removes his hand from the royal behind.

“Yes, Majesty -- ”

“Naughty Lizzie, Edmund.”

“Yes, Naughty Lizzie, you.. um, you very naughty girl.”

She wriggles in his lap, delighted. 

“Do tell me I'm ever so naughty, Edmund, and do continue spanking me, and then once you are done you shall fuck me because I'm quite as wet as a sailor who has never seen the sea before and thinks, oh perhaps it's just like a very big puddle, I shall step into it, and -- ”

His hand meets her arse with a loud smack. She jumps again, then lets out a moan as he -- daring as ever he has been -- slips his hand downwards to verify the truth of her words. 

He moves his fingers a little; she moans, louder this time, and pushes back against him.

“Naughty Lizzie,” he breathes, “you are ever so naughty and you deserve to be taught a very,” he slides his fingers deeper, “very strong lesson.”

“Oh,” she sighs, “yes please.”


	2. Prick

"I should like to take you like a boy today, Edmund." 

It's all the warning he gets. It's rather less than he would have wanted, preferring perhaps a few weeks or months (or years, were years out of the question?). Of course it's not that he hasn't experimented with such things before, he's not some sort of prude -- he has always been a believer in getting his penny's worth out of the local ladies of leisure, and Molly is nothing if not happy to stretch her boundaries. Or his boundaries, as it were.

But there's a difference in letting a dockside doxy stick it up your backside, and pulling down your britches for the Queen of England. The difference is chiefly that the Queen's cock is made from ivory and inlaid with veins of gold instead of a bit of barely polished wood covered in goose grease.

The Queen makes him suck on it first, before she puts it inside him. She giggles and pets his hair and tells him he's a very good boy as he wraps his mouth around her, tracing his fingertips over the silk ribbons which hold it on -- as always enjoying it despite himself. There's something about her which undermines his native cynicism, finding a way through it like water through cracks in a rock, exposing it for the flawed foundation it is.

She spreads him out on the royal bed and takes him there, girlish and enthusiastic. It's lucky that her endowment is rather fashionably petite, or Edmund is sure he would have made rather a fool of himself. As it is, he's more-or-less able to give as good as he gets, dancing as always along the thin line of propriety. Still, he ends up spending himself uselessly against her cushions, gasping and crying out, the Queen's hands fanned out over his shoulders. 

The Queen makes him service her, afterwards, her cock still tied around her waist and bumping against his head as he licks and kisses the royal cunny. At her release she calls out his name, which he takes as a personal victory. 

When he takes his leave of her she is sprawled and snoring, dishevelled, for the moment utterly human. He pauses for a moment at the door to look at her, and stores the image of her inside the fortress of his heart.


End file.
